


Outside Myself

by writingonpostcards



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, plus the rest of the pack but they don't have dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Derek opens his eyes slowly. The panelled ceiling lets him know immediately that he’s in Beacon Hills hospital. He doesn’t remember anything after the blue flash and he has no clue how he got here. He shrugs and starts toward the door to leave. And goes completely still</em>. </p><p>
  <em>Because that’s his body, immobile on a hospital bed.</em>
</p><p>OR Derek has an out-of-body experience and Stiles makes a confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside Myself

**Author's Note:**

> This really did not go the way I thought it would. I thought it’d be a super short thing and then it turned into a feelings fest. Oops.
> 
> Inspired by the song Outside Myself by K.D. Lang.
> 
> Thanks to my lovely sister Blinded_By_The_Light for being my beta.

# Outside Myself

  
_I’ve been outside myself for so long_   
_Any feelings I had are close to gone_   


It’s an average day, as average as one can be in Beacon Hills, and Derek is running in human form through the preserve, scenting along the pack’s territory line. Ordinarily he’d do the run with one of the betas, partially as a training exercise and partially because there’s safety in numbers. But today Derek isn’t feeling like company. 

The pack had been hanging at his loft, Isaac and Lydia quizzing Allison from some trashy magazines, and Erica and Boyd on her laptop trying to max out his internet usage by downloading as many B-grade movies as possible. Even Peter was there, although very studiously avoiding everyone and only coming downstairs once to make himself a cup of coffee.

And all of that was fine, even if Derek _was_ on edge from a nightmare where he woke up human and on the wrong side of the preserve line which was covered in flames reaching beyond the tree tops. And then Stiles had walked through the flames unscathed and proceeded to lecture Derek on the importance of fire in the regeneration cycle of native plants. Derek wasn’t sure whether to count that as part of the nightmare or not.

So he had been a little tense and struggling to read through one of his mother’s old books on pack mentality when Scott and Stiles entered the loft mid-afternoon. 

That in itself was totally normal. Scott and Stiles had some strange established 'Wednesday-Friendsday' thing which Derek tries very hard not to think about. But there was something abnormal about the dynamic of the duo on this occasion, a little less carelessness in their scents and a more weighted edge to their movements. Also, Stiles wasn’t wearing anything plaid, which Derek knew meant he had something serious he wanted to discuss with Derek about the pack. That, and his frequent attempts to make eye-contact with Derek. 

Derek used to think the plaid thing was an intentional decision, trying to appear more mature to the alpha, before he realised Stiles honestly didn’t think that vainly and it was more a subconscious thing. And then Derek had spent a long time wondering why Stiles’ subconscious didn’t make him wear the plaid because surely that would provide some level of comfort when speaking to him. Not that they weren’t close; friends actually, surprisingly.

And then Derek thought about why he was concerned with Stiles feeling comfortable.

Derek shakes his head to clear it. The preserve line is normal all the way through the residential areas and most of the preserve, it isn’t until Derek is looping back to return to the loft that he picks up on a foreign scent. It’s not causing his gut to spasm so he figures its fine to check it out by himself.

He slows to a walk and eases towards the territory line, glancing around for disturbances. There is the faintest bend to the bushes a few metres to his left, as if someone had been pushing them back to peek through. Derek walks closer and the foreign scent gets stronger. It reminds him of Deaton actually, which is strange because it’s obviously not his scent. 

Derek is puzzling over it when there is suddenly a high pitched whistling from the other side of the bushes. He doesn’t have time to react before a flash of blue light comes towards him, hitting just below his heart. 

He really shouldn’t have been alone.

The last thing he thinks before blacking out is that maybe he should have stayed and listened to whatever Stiles was going to tell him. 

-

Derek opens his eyes slowly. The panelled ceiling lets him know immediately that he’s in Beacon Hills hospital.

He doesn’t remember anything after the blue flash and he has no clue how he got here.

He raises a hand to deal with at an itch on his arm. It doesn’t go away when he scratches, but it’s not overly unpleasant so Derek leaves it be.

He sits up slowly, testing his body for physical injuries. He swings his legs over the bed and takes a moment to stretch out his neck and back before standing up in the empty – thankfully private – room. He figures he’ll have to thank Melissa McCall for that. He doesn’t sense anything wrong with him aside from a general lightness to his being, as if his muscles don’t actually weigh anything, but attributes it to dizziness and a need for food.

He shrugs and turns toward the door to leave.

And goes completely still. 

Because that’s his body.

Immobile on a hospital bed.

Ordinarily, Derek is not one for panicking. All it does is add confusion to situations which need to be handled with logic. But Derek thinks it is well within the bounds of a logical reaction to panic for a moment upon seeing himself lying on a hospital bed in a coma. A literal out-of-body experience.

He raises a hand in front of his face. He can see it. It looks 100% real. He raises his other hand and presses them together. He can feel them touching, even if there is something off about the sensation. He breathes in heavily through his nose and realises why.

No werewolf senses.

Which he supposes is a normal consequence of being... what? A ghost? That doesn’t sit right. He’s just... disembodied. Temporarily. Hopefully temporarily.

Having decided that, Derek moves on to the more pressing matter – how to get himself back inside his body.

The obvious option is to make contact with his body, hoping that will spark a reconnection. Derek places his hand on his comatose body’s chest. Nothing happens. So he gets back onto the bed and lies down, trying to mimic his body’s position exactly. But apparently subsumption doesn’t work either.

Ideally, Derek would want to confer with a book or seven from the mini-library he has in his room, but he doesn’t want to move farther away from his body than he has to, in case there’s some invisible, intangible connection that, once broken, can’t be repaired and he’s stuck disembodied forever.

Derek sighs and crosses his arms, frowning down at his body as if he could read the answers on his own skin. He registers belatedly that none of his activity has registered on the machines monitoring him. No increase in heart rate, brain activity or blood pressure.

Settling for second best, Derek decides to at least check over his medical report. Which, when he’s standing at the food of the bed, staring at it, begs the question can he interact with objects now that he seems to be only semi-materialised. He could touch his own body, but there may have been some intrinsic connection there, and by extension, to the bed so he could sit on it. And the floor, which he is standing on currently. Having processed all that, he dismisses the idea that he won’t be able to lift the clipboard.

Except that Derek’s hand goes right through the clipboard when he reaches to pick it up.

If Stiles were here he’d say something snarky about Derek’s facial expression. With particular emphasis on his eyebrows.

But he’s not which is both a good and a bad thing because Derek can happily admit that Stiles is the human equivalent of his library and probably his best bet on having some idea on how to return him to his body.

Derek crouches down so he’s at eye-level with the clipboard. It looks to be only two pages so hopefully the first page will give him enough information so he can better approach the situation. It reads pretty standard and he can recognise Melissa McCall’s handwriting on it, fudging a few areas for him, like body temperature, so it doesn’t look untoward to doctors who know nothing about werewolves.

Apart from that there isn’t anything Derek hasn’t already worked out for himself. No physical injury, no mental damage. He figures out from the time stamp on the document that he’s probably only been out about 3 hours, making it early evening. 

Derek walks over to the window, second floor judging by the height. There’s a faint orange tinting the edge of the sky, signalling to Derek that it’s around seven.

He’s still gazing out the window when he hears the door open.

Erica storms in first, which Derek figures makes sense, seeing as she’s the fiercest of the pack. Boyd is with her though, keeping an arm wrapped firmly around her waist. Probably to stop her from punching Derek in the face. Isaac trails in behind them. He looks like he’s been crying, eyes puffy and red, and he’s avoiding looking at Derek’s body as if doing so will cause him to cry again.

He pays them little attention after their entrance. It’s clear they can’t see him where he stands by the window and after speaking a tentative _hello_ realises they can’t hear him either. He turns his back on where they sit around the bed, to stare out the window again and rack his brain on how to get back into his body.

Touch doesn’t work which is a shame because almost everything else Derek can think of requires being able to interact with objects or tell someone about what’s happening. Sadly, he has to rule out Deaton being able to help him seeing as he has no way to let the man know about his situation. He can’t try to create his own spell firstly because he can only half remember any of the ones he’s read about and secondly because he won’t be able to handle any of the ingredients anyway.

Isaac, Erica and Boyd are still there when he turns back around, sitting in silence on plastic chairs around his bed. He tries using the Alpha link with his pack to communicate with them, first thinking to them generally and when that doesn’t work, trying to communicate directly to Boyd who he thinks would handle hearing Derek’s voice in his head the most calmly. 

But it turns out it doesn’t matter because nothing happens anyway.

He thinks touching Boyd while trying to communicate might help the mental link, but he’s worried that it will cause something bad to happen to Boyd.

Peter walks in then and for a moment Derek feels a faint hope that maybe _he_ heard Derek’s earlier messages. Maybe a family connection makes the Alpha-Beta link stronger? But it’s clear he didn’t pick up on anything when all he does is glance at Derek and wonder aloud why his body needs the coma to heal when there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with him. He leaves without saying anything to the others.

Isaac, Erica and Boyd remain for another hour, occasionally asking each other questions but mostly sitting with their own thoughts. They leave almost reluctantly – which Derek finds comforting – and mostly because Mrs McCall came in and told them that Derek just needed the stasis of sleep to encourage his body’s healing and that she’d call them all when he woke up.

Melissa’s smile dropped as soon as they left the room though. Derek felt his heartbeat increase as a faint sense of panic washed over him again. Disconcertingly, the monitor attached to him remained steady.

After she leaves, Derek resolves to try meditating himself back into his body. He’s never been a big believer in the spiritual but it’s all he can think of that doesn’t involve anyone or anything else and there is literally nothing to lose. 

Derek has only about 10 minutes of solitude after Melissa leaves – during which he sits cross-legged on the floor at the end of his bed and tries to meditate himself back into his body – before the door slams open with enough force to cause the clipboard with his medical information to fall off its hook.

It’s disturbing to see it fall right though him and Derek scrambles to the back corner of the room before Scott, Allison or Stiles passes through his body and it creeps him out even more. Besides, he still doesn’t know what side-effects being in this ghost-like state would have on anyone who comes into contact with him. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

The trio’s visit is as noise filled as the other’s was silent. Scott keeps up a near constant stream of conversation, helped by Allison. It’s trivial stuff mostly but it calms Derek who is now into the 7th hour of disembodiment and no closer to a fix.

Stiles is surprisingly silent but very jumpy. He sits on the edge of a plastic chair – so close to falling Derek wants to push him further back in the seat – bouncing a leg up and down and biting his nails. He manages to sit on each chair at least once and in between paces back and forth between the door and the window, head bobbing and twitching as he goes as if having an internal debate. 

Derek – who should really be thinking more on solutions – lets himself get distracted by Stiles, tuning out Scott and Allison until they’re just background noise.

Stiles’ hands keep hitting against his thighs. Anxiety. His legs are stiff as he walks. Fear. He’s biting his bottom lip. Worry. He’s blinking near constantly. Self-deprecation.

Derek frowns. Why would Stiles be feeling that? The rapid fire blinking is normally only reserved for when he’s mocking himself for screwing up a bit of trivia, or in more serious moments when his human body can’t keep up with the werewolves. The latter is always distressing for Derek to see. _He_ knows Stiles is part of the pack, but he sometimes worries that Stiles doubts how important he is to Der- to everyone.

Derek’s thinking is interrupted when Scott stands up to leave, gently pulling Allison along with him. At the door he turns and gives Stiles a weighted look which Derek can’t unpick. He wonders whether it had anything to do with what had happened during their 'Wednesday-Friendsday' thing. He has a feeling he’ll soon be finding out.

As soon as Scott shuts the door behind him Stiles goes absolutely still. Considering he’s been twitcher than normal all through the evening the sudden stillness concerns Derek.

It doesn’t last long though. 

Stiles leaps out of the seat he was perched on and storms up and down the length of Derek’s bed, arms going crazy as he yells at Derek’s body.

“That was a fucking, _stupid_ move Derek. You absolute idiot. How _could_ you! What, you thought it was a good idea for a solo patrol – which you should like never ever do, even I know that – when there were practicing druids in the preserve? Oh wait, you didn’t know there were druids in the preserve because you stormed out this afternoon before I could tell you! And I KNOW you knew I was going to tell you something important because you _know_ me and you always get that damn flustered look in your eyes and you roll your shoulder a lot for some werewolf who doesn’t even know what muscle pain is!” 

Derek raises his eyebrows, surprised that Stiles had read him that morning and knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

“God I thought you were smart Derek. Screw that, I _know_ you’re smart, so why? Wake up, goddamit, and tell me why!” 

Stiles stops at the foot of Derek’s bed, glaring at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. He’s angry. Derek can tell that even without the werewolf senses because the back of Stiles' neck has gone red and his shoulders rise and fall exaggeratedly as he breathes.

Derek steps out from the corner and moves towards Stiles who continues ranting.

“Do you have a death wish or something, huh? You better damn well not, because you know what I would have done if you’d died Derek? Lost my freaking _mind_ , ok?” His voice is hoarse and his hands are fisted at his sides and shaking. “And don’t you dare die on me now. Don’t even think about it. Or I swear to god I’m-" Stiles voice cracks and he loses energy just as quickly as he’d gained it before.

He walks slowly to stand near Derek’s head, stretching an arm out as if to stroke his hair. Derek, who is now standing on the opposite side of the bed from Stiles, swears he can feel the warmth of Stiles’ hand and leans forwards as if he can make his comatose body move too. But he can’t, and Stiles just leaves his hand hovering over Derek’s forehead for a few moments before dropping it to his side.

It startles Derek that in that moment he felt such a _want_ for a simple moment of connection. Even if he wasn’t in his body. Even if it was with Stiles.

 _Because_ it was with Stiles.

It’s something he’s thought about before. Touching Stiles. Having Stiles touch him. Not sexually, just as part of the pack. He doesn’t hesitate when he brushes Isaac on the shoulder if he walks past him, or lets Erica hug him whenever she comes over, or pats Boyd on the back after they’ve done a patrol together. But Derek is always second guessing his instincts around Stiles. The human who shouldn’t be so immersed in the pack but is. 

He wonders whether it should feel the same as when he does it with the pack. Because it doesn’t feel the same.

Is it because Stiles is a human? Or is it something else. Derek isn’t sure, but there are some moments when he thinks it’s the latter. After he’s just woken up in the morning and his first thought is to wonder what Stiles is doing, going through his mental catalogue of Stiles and remembering the way he looks in the morning from that time the pack slept over at his after a movie night. Stiles had been the first up, standing in the kitchen by himself and absentmindedly reorganising the cups in Derek’s cupboard based on size. Sometimes it will hit him from no-where, he’ll be reading the newspaper and suddenly Stiles’ voice will be in his head with some witty comment on an article or even a casual critique on the state of the stock market.

Stiles is still standing at the head of the bed, just staring down at Derek. He looks distressed. His hair is more unruly and his skin more pale than normal. The smattering of moles on his body stand dark in contrast and he’s biting down on his lip with a vigour that worries Derek. At that moment, Derek feels a pull toward Stiles, and he steps forward, surprised when he can feel the pressure of the bed pushing back against his body.

Derek remains on his side of the bed then, just watching Stiles watch him. It’s... different, this view of Stiles. Derek normally tries not to have eye-contact with him, so he doesn’t know what Stiles looks like when he’s looking at him. From the few times Derek had let it happen, there’d been something almost venerating in the way Stiles gazed at him, as if he was seeing more than what was there. It unsettled Derek, made him feel exposed in a way he hadn’t since he was a child. 

So Derek never lets himself look at Stiles like he wants to. But he can now. 

Stiles’ eyes are coffee coloured and a few shades lighter than his hair. He expected them to be as expressive as his face, but Derek finds them impossible to read at the moment. Stiles is silent and still and Derek normally relies on sound and visual clues to read him. Derek frowns down at his stationary body, confused and upset at his inability to read Stiles for the first time in months, wallowing in silence that is getting an uncomfortable edge to it.

Stiles breaks it with a sharp laugh that causes Derek to jump.

“You know Der, I’m kinda kicking myself over here.” His voice is dripping in self-loathing.

Derek blinks rapidly and looks up, train of thought completely lost. Stiles has never called him ‘Der’ in real life. No-one has in years. It was a family nickname, and hearing it roll off Stiles’ tongue sends a chill up Derek’s spine.

“9 more days Derek. That’s what I was holding out for. I didn’t want to say anything until I was 18, you know? Being the Sherriff’s son instils some pretty steadfast morals in a person.”

Derek isn’t sure where this is going at all. He walks to join Stiles on his side of the bed so he can see Stiles’ face better while he’s speaking, try to pick up more signals as to what’s going through Stiles’ head. 

He’d always struggled with understanding people outside his family, and even more so people who weren’t born werewolves. Stiles had become a project for him to learn to understand another person. 

He started watching Stiles to figure it all out; how a person uses their body when talking with friends verse family verse strangers. How a face moved differently when someone was lying or uncomfortable. What kind of words you used in different situations. He chose Stiles not just because he was the closest human to Derek, but because he was always so active with his body movements and facial expressions that Derek thought he’d be an ideal study. He was right, and over the months he’d been watching Stiles he’d ended up with a mental archive of it all which was probably taking up the majority of Derek’s brain. 

Now he reads Stiles like a favourite book.

But he can’t read him now. Which is why he feels the air leave his lungs when Stiles next speaks.

“I’ve been crushing on you since... well, I always found you attractive,” he shrugs and rambles, letting Derek know he’s nervous, “but my brain hadn’t quite caught up with my sexuality when I first met you. But since I knotted that all out it’s been a pretty solid unrequited love kind of a situation. Unrequited lust? Like? ” He sighs heavily. “Regardless, it sucks.”

Derek is shocked. Objectively, he knows a lot of people... ‘crush’ on him. But normally it’s from a distance and purely because of his looks. His relationships have only ever been with people who don’t know him well. And really, who could? He doesn’t open up to people easily or often. His past is messy. And also there’s the werewolf thing.

Ok, he’d noticed that Stiles always had a faint smell of arousal on him, but Derek had assumed that it was just part of being a teenager, or just a facet of Stiles’ personality. And he’d never thought the reason he could always smell it on Stiles was because Stiles was around _him_. But for Stiles to not only acknowledge his looks, but like him for who he is... and Derek isn’t just guessing that, he can figure out that Stiles must really like him a lot if he, the boy who normally talks before thinking and acts on whims, was holding back from telling Derek he liked him. Because only someone close to Derek, who could read what he left unsaid, would know that Derek has an issue with rules and regulation and the law.

Stiles likes Derek. Stiles really likes Derek.

And suddenly Derek is feeling young. Hopeful. The desire to get back into his body returns with a violent shock. 

And Stiles, still nervous, keeps rambling.

“Scott’s the only one who knows. Well, he’s the only one I’ve told officially.” Stiles rubs his hands harshly over his face and groans, thinking out loud. “Knowing Scott he told Allison, and Lydia probably wheedled it out of her, and I think Lydia and Erica have some weird gossip power play so Erica probably found out eventually which means Boyd and Isaac know too.”

“Fuck. Derek.” He looks pained and on the verge of laughing hysterically at himself. “You’re like the only one that doesn’t know and the only one I want to know.”

He sighs heavily and closes his mouth with a finality that worries Derek. He desperately wants Stiles to keep talking. Logically he knows he’s heard most of the story now, the bones of it at least, and Stiles has probably said all he needed to... but he wants to hear Stiles' voice some more. Watch his face from up close. See him unguarded like he hasn’t before.

But that doesn’t happen. Stiles walks slowly toward the door to leave, shoulders slumped and head down. Before he realises what he’s doing, Derek reaches out to grab Stiles and pull him back and when he fingers slide through Stiles hand with no effect he is disproportionately fraught.

Stiles' hand grabs the door knob and it stays there in indecision for almost an entire minute during which time Derek feels his gut twisting uncomfortably. He wishes more than anything that he was out of the coma. That he could press his palms against Stiles’ sides and whisper against his lips. Show him what Stiles has come to be for him because he’s never been good with words but he’d try if Stiles wanted him to.

But he can’t and he thinks that might be killing him.

And suddenly, viciously, Stiles is jerking away from the door. He strides determinedly to the hospital bed, places his hands desperately on either side of Derek’s face and leans in to press his lips against Derek’s.

For a second, Derek can’t move, frozen at the sight of Stiles kissing him. His gut gives a sudden painful lurch, and then his whole self is lurching, being drawn forwards and upwards and outwards all at once and Derek has to close his eyes to ground himself. The back of his eye-lids glow electric blue and then the pulling stops.

Derek is suddenly flooded with sensations. He can feel callused hands against his cheeks, soft lips parted slightly and pressing against his own, the smell of disinfectant almost drowning out Stiles’ scent, the scratch of the hospital gown against his stomach. After being without his werewolf senses for hours it’s overwhelming and while his brain is struggling to process it all he can feel Stiles draw away and hear him start once again toward the door.

Derek doesn’t want Stiles to leave, not at all. The sound of the heart-monitor cuts through the clutter of senses when it starts to speed up. Derek snaps his eyes open and locks onto the image of Stiles framed against the open doorway.

 _Stiles_. It’s a whisper, barely there, but it’s all he can manage.

It’s enough for Stiles though because he turns slowly, eyes wide and Derek can smell an edge of hope on his scent. He smiles softly at Stiles, trying to let the expression say what his brain hasn’t even fully figured out yet.

The next second Stiles is back by Derek’s bedside, pulling Derek into a hug that would probably bruise him if he were human. Derek’s hands come up to press Stiles even closer to him, fingernails digging into his back. He presses his face into the hollow of Stiles throat and for the first time all day warmth is rushing through him, and he’s smiling and laughing and Stiles is laughing too and chanting _thank you thank you_ over and over as he runs his fingers through Derek’s hair.

Derek pulls back gently, needing to let Stiles know that he knows. But he’s never been good with words and being able to look into Stiles eyes this closely, to feel his body heat radiating, to smell him properly, to hear his heartbeat fast but steady, it’s close to short-circuiting Derek’s head.

So he uses his actions.

He slowly moves his right hand to cup Stiles cheek, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone and down to ghost over his lips. His left hand is on Stiles hip, the fingertips slipped underneath the t-shirt so Derek can feel skin on skin. Stiles’ eyes are unblinking and wide, a blush spreading over his cheeks as his breathing deepens. Derek takes a deep breath in and tries again to use words. Use them for Stiles.

“Stiles, I know. I want-" is all he says before slowly moving to press his lips against Stiles. He keeps his eyes open until the last second so he can watch Stiles' reaction as he moves in. There’s an almost imperceptible move towards Derek when Stiles closes his eyes and Derek smiles gently when he kisses Stiles.

It’s not perfect, Derek hasn’t kissed anyone in a long time, but that makes it kind of perfect to him. Because Derek didn’t think that he would have anything like this. Someone to want him so much that when he hurts, they hurt. Who could see past his body and who understood his past and his personality – the good and bad – and didn’t strive for something perfect. Derek didn’t think he could offer that anymore.

And the more Derek thinks about it, the less surprised he is that Stiles is the one he needs by his side – wants by his side. Spending all that time in Stiles’ presence, cataloguing his gestures and expressions and scents to teach himself how to read people, when what was really happening is Derek was teaching himself how to read Stiles. The exercise becoming a habit and gradually, almost unnoticeably, a necessity. So much so that Derek _always_ notices Stiles’ absence. Feels a drop of his shoulders after he scans a room and finds Stiles not there.

Derek realises his lips have stilled while he was thinking and Stiles takes it upon himself to take over leading the kiss. He places his hands on either side of Derek’s face like earlier, angling Derek’s head so he can interlock their lips better. He traces his tongue over Derek’s lower lip and Derek’s sighs, opening his mouth further to Stiles. He can feel when Stiles starts smiling against his lips and soon he’s pulling away after pressing a kiss to both sides of Derek’s mouth.

Stiles is grinning and Derek mirrors it easily.

“So...” Stiles lets out, looking back and forth between Derek’s lips and eyes.

“Yeah.” Derek runs a hand through Stiles hair just because he can.

“How are you?” It’s a ridiculous question considering the context and Derek chooses not to answer, instead rolling his eyes and leaning in to kiss Stiles again.

-

Derek gathers the pack together the next day and tells them about what happened. Not what happened between him and Stiles (although they pretty much figure that out when Stiles kisses him on the way to the kitchen when he goes to get some water) but about the druid and his solo patrol which everyone, even Scott, gives him slack for. 

When he tells them about his out-of-body experience they all look disbelieving until Stiles, who Derek had already told, says _prove it_ and Derek rolls his eyes and repeats back snippets of conversation he’d overheard until they believe him and start peppering him with questions. He thanks Stiles for that after the rest of the pack leaves.

No-one can figure out what caused Derek’s disembodiment and even Deaton has no thoughts on how he returned to his body afterwards. It isn’t until a few weeks later, Stiles fast asleep against Derek on the couch, that the phrase _true love’s kiss_ swims to the forefront of his mind.

Derek smiles to himself and leans down to kiss Stiles on the forehead. 

He’s never going to tell Stiles that theory.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this :) (kinda sorry for the super sappiness at the end there)
> 
> I realise some of the logic about what Derek can and cannot interact with is a little roundabout but as it's not the main focus of the story I decided to just let it be.
> 
> I used Australian spelling for those who care/noticed.
> 
> visit me on [tumblr](http://whatthehellisawinchester.tumblr.com/)
> 
> check out the _Outside Myself_ [ photoset](http://whatthehellisawinchester.tumblr.com/post/94829958439/outside-myself-a-sterek-fanfic-the-panelled)


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